


You've Got Mail

by perthbysaint



Category: TharnType the Series (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22194328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perthbysaint/pseuds/perthbysaint
Summary: Tharn has taken to opening his texts from Type in private. There's a reason for that.Or: Five times Type sent Tharn nudes, and the one time Tharn sent one back.Russian translation availablehere
Relationships: Tharn Kirigun/Type (TharnType)
Comments: 86
Kudos: 1432





	You've Got Mail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vbear93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vbear93/gifts).



> this is... significantly more explicit than my last fic... hoo baby
> 
> Russian translation [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9239930)

[one]

 _Chat between Tharn🥁 & Type⚽️:_  
[4:00 PM] Tharn🥁: where are you? have u eaten?  
[4:02 PM] Type⚽️: store. no.  
[4:03 PM] Tharn🥁: which store  
[4:03 PM] Type⚽️: athletic wear  
[4:03 PM] Tharn🥁: why are you at the athletic wear store  
[4:04 PM] Type⚽️: ripped my shorts at practice need new ones  
[4:04 PM] Tharn🥁: ok send pictures lol  
[4:06 PM] Type⚽️: fuck off

Tharn tosses his phone on the couch next to him with a smile, nosy instincts satisfied for the moment. As much as Type spits and gripes about Tharn texting him every two hours because he misses him, he still always humors him, which Tharn appreciates. He goes back to his textbook, doing his best to focus on math formulas instead of the thought of Type in shorts, but his brain has decided to take a vacation and he finds himself staring at the same paragraph over and over, not processing a thing.

When his phone chimes again, he dives for it.

[4:21 PM] Type⚽️: think i might have asked for wrong size  
[4:21 PM] Type⚽️: _image attached_

A selfie? From Type? Tharn was thanking all of his lucky stars as he happily taps to load the image. The picture loads and Tharn’s phone slips from his suddenly lax grip. Convinced he couldn’t have just seen what he thought he just saw, he picks his phone up hastily and stares very intently at the picture.

It’s a mirror selfie, obviously taken in a changing room, but that thought comes secondary to _thighs._ Type is holding the camera in front of his face to take the picture, shirt clenched in his other hand and pulled up slightly to show off the shorts. The fucking shorts. He had seen Type in his soccer gear before and yes, Type has most definitely asked for the wrong size and Tharn is more grateful than he’s ever been for anything in his whole life. The shorts are riding up so high they can’t cover more than a few inches of skin, Type’s smooth, powerful thighs on full display. On the inside of his left thigh, there’s a tiny purple mark peeking out from under the bottom of the shorts. Tharn knows exactly what it is because he was the one who left it there just two days ago when he sucked marks into Type’s thighs for a half-hour before he slung Type’s legs over his shoulders and ate him out until Type was sobbing fat tears and begging Tharn to let him come. 

Tharn’s dick twitches in his sweatpants, and he reaches down to grind the heel of his palm against it when he gets another notification from Type. Another image. With slightly shaky fingers, he taps the image. When it loads, his head falls back and he groans. Apparently not satisfied with just the front view, Type has graciously provided him with the back view too, picture taken over his shoulder to catch the back of him in the mirror. The shorts cut off just below his ass, technically covering everything, but short enough that if Type bent forward even a little, he would give anyone who cared to look at him a show. A soft, peachy, for-Tharn’s-eyes-only show. He absolutely could not wear those Satan-shorts out in public.

[4:25 PM] Type⚽️: thoughts??

Oh yeah, Type wanted his opinion. Tharn knows he should be a good boyfriend and maybe make some joke about Type grabbing the wrong size but being welcome to wear them at home any time he liked. Just flirty enough to fluster Type. He should definitely not make a comment about exactly what those shorts are doing to him.

[4:26 PM] Tharn🥁: come home  
[4:26 PM] Type⚽️: tf, why

Okay, failed step one. This is fine, Tharn can recover from this. Or, he could have, had he not chosen to slide his hand over the noticeable bulge in his sweatpants and take a picture, sending it to Type without a caption.

[4:27 PM] Tharn🥁: _image attached_  
[4:29 PM] Type⚽️: omw

-

“What’s g-gotten _into you_?” Type gasps, fingers tangled in Tharn’s thick hair as Tharn bites a mark into Type’s thigh, just below the same purple mark he’d put on display in those stupid pictures.

Tharn doesn’t answer him, just tugs him closer by his thighs and kisses up the side of Type’s leaking cock, ripping a gasp from Type’s swollen mouth. The fingers in Tharn’s hair tighten and Tharn smiles, licks teasingly at Type’s cock as he slides a hand up between Type’s shaking thighs.

Type had barely had time to get in the door before Tharn was on him, pressing him up against the wall and kissing him til Type’s mouth was red and puffy before tugging him over to the couch and laying him out on his back. Not that Type was complaining.

“Fucking horny bastard,” Type says, somewhere between a whine and a sigh. “Jumping me like this. Pervert.”

“I’m the pervert?” Tharn smiles against Type’s skin. “Who sent me sexy pictures of his thighs and ass? In a _dressing room_ , no less.” He mouths at Type’s belly, scraping his teeth over the delicate skin.

“Sexy pict- You-!” One of Type’s thighs bumps up against Tharn’s side as Type attempts to sputter out an excuse. 

“Gonna deny it?” Tharn teases, rubbing his fingers, wet with lube, up against Type’s entrance, hot and slippery already. He knows he’s not playing fair, knows Type probably didn’t consider the pictures sexy at all, but there’s nothing quite as fun as watching Type slowly lose his mind on Tharn’s fingers.

“Bastard,” Type spits, but his heels lock around Tharn’s waist and pull him closer. “Shut up ‘n fuck me already.”

Tharn pushes a finger into Type slowly, feeling him all slick and tight around his calloused finger. His own erection is still trapped in his sweatpants, and for a second he pulls his finger out of Type to rub at his aching hardness, but the sooner he gets Type prepped, the sooner he can go about fucking Type into the couch. 

Type grabs at the arm of the couch above his head, back arching as Tharn’s finger rubs at his walls. Tharn thumbs at one of Type’s puffy nipples with his other hand, rolling it between his fingers and pinching lightly until Type makes a broken sound in the back of his throat, a mix of a moan and a whimper. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, drives me crazy,” Tharn mutters, sliding a second finger into Type and spreading them apart, drinking in Type’s moans. “Burning me up with a fucking _picture_.”

Type isn’t going to be able to walk by the time Tharn’s done with him.

-

[Two]

 _Chat between Tharn🥁 & Type⚽️:_  
[7:02 PM] Tharn🥁: hanging out w friend baby be home later

Type isn’t lonely. He isn’t. Seriously. He’s perfectly happy to have the apartment all to himself while Tharn goes out with his friends. Maybe he’ll walk around naked, or take up finger painting, or watch porn and jerk off. He hasn’t done that in forever.

Because porn isn’t as good as actually having sex with someone. Sex, which Type has been having an awful lot of lately.

Fuck, he’s lonely.

Type takes one of the pillows on the couch and hurls it across the room, watching it smack into the opposing wall and fall limply on the ground. He feels an odd sense of kinship with the stupid pillow. He refuses to text Tharn. Because if he texts Tharn, then Tharn’s going to know that Type misses him, and he can’t have that. Type is only allowed to show affection if he can simultaneously be rude about it, or Tharn’s going to catch on to the fact that Type’s caught _feelings_ or something. 

So no, he can’t text Tharn and tell him to come home. But that doesn’t mean he can’t _entice_ Tharn to come home. Type still has very vivid memories of how Tharn reacted when he accidentally sexted him or something. He’s still not sure how Tharn got so worked up over soccer shorts. It’s not like Type was naked or anything. His dick wasn’t even out. Type almost feels bad because Tharn has clearly never received nudes before if a perfectly innocent picture got him going enough that Type’s ass ached for _days_ after that. 

As his boyfriend, it’s Type’s job to fix that. 

Obviously.

Type makes his way to the bedroom, shedding his clothes as he goes. By the time he reaches the bed and flops down on it, his shirt is in the living room and his pants and underwear are scattered somewhere in the hall. He rolls over onto his back and stretches, feeling a joint or two crack. He’s not hard, but that can be easily rectified. Too lazy to get up and grab a bottle of lube from their extensive collection, Type licks his palm and reaches down to give himself a nice, slow pull. It’s just this side of too dry, and Type’s body shudders. He hasn’t done this in forever either, ever since he and Tharn started properly dating and Tharn took over all of his sexual needs. He can’t say he’s missed it. 

Plan B then. Flipping back onto his stomach, he opens the camera app on his phone and stares into it ponderingly. Then he smiles.

-

Tharn laughs as one of his friends spills his entire drink down his front, shrieking in dismay. They’d all warned him that attempting to balance his shot glass on one of his collar bones was going to end in disaster, but they also knew he was never going to listen. Sure enough, the drink slips off his collar bone and Tharn just knows they’re going to have to deal with him smelling like vodka for the rest of the night. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he sets his beer down to wiggle it out of his probably-too-tight-pants. 

[8:08 PM] Type⚽️: _image attached_

“Who’s that?” a friend asks, trying to peek over his shoulder.

“Boyfriend,” Tharn says fondly.

“Ew, should have guessed. You get that mushy look on your face whenever he texts. Or breathes. Or exists.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Tharn says, shoving his friend teasingly. Jeed walks by their table then to refill their drinks and ruffle Tharn’s hair affectionately, and he almost forgets that he hasn’t opened Type’s message. 

His friend, who does, in fact, now smell like vodka, to exactly no one’s surprise, is in the middle of a story when he takes a sip of his beer and taps the image to load it.

Beer dribbles down the corner of his now open mouth. 

The picture is comprised of about half of Type’s face, curls mostly in his face but knowing smirk still clearly visible. The camera is quite close to his face, close enough so Tharn can see all the flaws Type doesn’t have, and the angle is not the best, but Tharn doesn’t care at all because Type is laying on their bed and he’s _naked_. There’s so much golden skin on display, from the curve of his shoulder down the arch of his back to his _ass_. Type’s cute, plush little ass is fully out there. The same ass Tharn now desperately wants to become extremely well acquainted with. Preferably in the next half hour or so. _Friends better than this?_ the caption reads. 

Tharn stands up without a word, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“What’s up?” someone says, but Tharn just slaps a couple of bills down on the table and turns on his heel, heading for the exit. “Tharn? Tharn, where are you going, bro?”

He’s going to that ass. Obviously.

-

It’s been twenty minutes since Type sent that picture, and with every passing minute, his anxiety grows stronger. The little blue checkmark next to the picture proves that Tharn opened the message, so why did he not get a text back? Not even a “Seriously, I’m with friends, chill out,” text. This was a terrible idea; Type is going to throw himself out the nearest window or drown himself in their tiny bathtub. After he sent that picture, he hadn’t bothered to put clothes back on, but he refuses to die naked, so he gets up out of their comfy bed and oozes over to where he had dropped his underwear on the ground when he was in the making-bad-decisions mood. He drags them slowly up his legs and is about to go lay face down on their bed and scream to a god that has clearly abandoned him when the front door bangs open. 

“I don’t suppose that’s a murderer coming to put me out of my misery,” Type says, only half joking.

Tharn skids around the corner of the hallway, face bright red and chest heaving. He looks Type up and down once and says, “Well, that was a waste of time on your part.”

Type’s face flushes crimson red, half in embarrassment, half in fury. “Wow, _fuck you._ Asshole. See if I ever text you again.” He’s about to step back and slam their bedroom door in Tharn’s face when Tharn steps up to him, their chests almost brushing.

“I meant putting your clothes back on,” he murmurs, reaching down to slide a finger under the waistband of Type’s underwear. He stretches the band out and lets it go, the elastic snapping against Type’s skin.

“Oh,” Type says, swallowing.

“It’s okay, though,” Tharn continues. “Gives me something to take off you.” And he leans down to grab two handfuls of Type’s thighs, hiking him up around his waist. Type will deny the squeak that comes out of his mouth until the day he dies, but even he can’t deny the needy way he wraps his legs around Tharn’s hips, pulling him flush against his body. 

It’s only a few steps to their bed, and Tharn throws Type down on their plush comforter with ease. He climbs up on the bed after Type, sliding a hand up his leg. When he reaches the band of Type’s underwear he smiles, just on this side of mean. “Was my baby lonely?” he asks, and Type almost groans. One of these days Tharn would just dick him down without the need to tease him until he feels like crying, but it’s clearly not this day.

“No,” he snaps anyway, knowing he’s only prolonging his own torture, but unable to resist rising to the bait.

“Really?” Tharn says like he’s surprised. “Is that why you sent me that picture when you knew I was out with my friends?”

Okay, so clearly Type wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was. 

“What, so I’m not allowed to text my boyfriend anymore?” If Type could learn to close his mouth for once, that would be great.

“You know I love it when you text me, pretty baby,” Tharn says sweetly. “Love knowing my baby is thinking about me, wanting my attention.”

“Who wants your attention?” Type protests, fighting an already lost battle.

“Well, my friends for one.” Tharn cocks his head, shifts up closer to Type until his hips are pressed against Type’s ass, legs slung messily over Tharn’s hips. “Pity they lost it the second you texted me. Didn’t even say goodbye.” He reaches up to tap his lips thoughtfully. “Going to have to apologize for that later.”

Type can’t resist. He grabs for Tharn’s hand that is still pressed against his lips and brings it to his own mouth, pressing a sloppy kiss to Tharn’s knuckles. “Too bad for them. Now that I have your attention, I intend to keep it.” He jerks on Tharn’s hand, forcing Tharn to slam his other hand down next to Type’s head to keep from falling on him. “And what are you going to do with _my_ attention?”

Tharn smiles at the evil creature he’s fallen head over heels in love with. “Keep it, of course.”

Type brings a knee up, bumps it against Tharn’s side. “Good.”

-

[Three]

It’s been two days since the Argument, and Type is considering drastic measures. He doesn’t even remember what the argument had started out as, but Type, used to being forgiven on the spot since Tharn was unable to resist how cute he was, had refused to back down and apologize, and now Tharn is barely speaking to him. It’s the most awkward cohabitation Type had ever participated in. They sleep in the same bed still, but Tharn has taken to getting up an extra ten minutes early to avoid Type in the morning, and Type is officially sick of it.

He sits at their shared table, phone sitting in front of him as he stares at it. Two years ago he never would have considered reaching out and extending an apology, but unfortunately, life with Tharn had affected him in more ways than one. Stupid need to make the boyfriend happy.

He picks up his phone.

 _Chat between Tharn🥁 & Type⚽️:_  
[3:01 PM] Type⚽️: sorry i yelled

A few minutes later, his phone pings.

[3:06 PM] Tharn🥁: it’s whatever

Ah, it was so not whatever.

[3:06 PM] Type⚽️: please dont be mad anynmore  
[3:07 PM] Tharn🥁: im not mad  
[3:07 PM] Type⚽️: then why are you out and not here with me  
[3:07 PM] Tharn🥁: im just out type i’ll be back later  
[3:08 PM] Type⚽️: what can i do to encourage you to come home .. earlier

Type really hadn’t meant to open this particular can of worms, but by God, he had opened it, and he’s going to open it good.

[3:08 PM] Tharn🥁: ??? 

Type reaches up and undoes the buttons of his white button-up. His fingertips are cold against his warm skin. Before he could lose his nerve, he splays one hand across his exposed chest and snaps a picture of himself. It might have been sexier if he was a girl and actually had something to grab, but the sheer amount of time Tharn spent biting and sucking on his chest whenever they were in bed together tells Type that his boyfriend thinks his chest is pretty sexy too.

[3:09 PM] Type⚽️: _image attached_

The reply is almost instant.

[3:10 PM] Tharn🥁: oh baby u cant do this to me again

Type smirks at the pet name. Then he leans back and takes another picture, this time with that same hand sliding underneath the waistband of his sweats, pulled down just enough to expose the top of his underwear and his stomach, also known as Tharn’s ultimate weakness. There are still some faint marks on his lower belly from Tharn’s needy kisses and bites. They’re almost gone though, and Type would really appreciate Tharn coming back to add some new ones.

[3:10 PM] Type⚽️: _image attached_  
[3:10 PM] Type⚽️: cant i? Who says  
[3:10 PM] Tharn🥁: baby pl;ease, im in public i cant come

Type gets up and moves to the couch. He lays himself down on it and shoves his pants to his knees. The next picture he sends is of his hand wrapped loosely around his cock, barely a whisper of a touch, just enough to tease himself.

[3:11 PM] Type⚽️: _image attached_  
[3:11 PM] Type⚽️: if you cant come guess i will

He drops the phone to his chest as he tilts his head back, enjoying the light, teasing touches. There’s lube stuffed under one of the pillows of the couch, and he lazily reaches for it, uncapping it and pouring a good amount on his fingers. The first slick pull rips a moan from his lips. His phone buzzes and he forces himself to stop so he can check it, knowing full well what’s on it.

[3:11 PM] Tharn🥁: baby what are u doing im in public  
[3:11 PM] Tharn🥁: fuck youre pretty  
[3:11 PM] Tharn🥁: i cant do this  
[3:12 PM] Type⚽️: whats wrong babe?

He’s being a dick. He knows he’s being a dick, but Tharn is just too much fun to mess with.

[3:13 PM] Tharn🥁: i just fucking locked myself ina bathroom what are you doinf to me  
[3:13 PM] Type⚽️: im not doing anything to you. Because youre not here

He takes another photo, this one highlighting how shiny and slick his fingers are, how hard his dick is. He makes sure those faint marks on his stomach are in full view and sends it, imagining Tharn’s tortured groans.

[3:14 PM] Type⚽️: _image attached_  
[3:14 PM] Type⚽️: doing everything myself i guess  
[3:14 PM] Tharn🥁: fuck youre so hard  
[3:14 PM] Tharn🥁: wanna touc h you  
[3:14 PM] Tharn🥁: youre so pretty i love you  
[3:15 PM] Type⚽️: are you seriously touching yourself in a public bathroom?  
[3:15 PM] Tharn🥁: fcourse i am, youre so fuckinf gorgeous  
[3:16 PM] Tharn🥁: touch yourself for me, baby  
[3:16 PM] Tharn🥁: be good for me yeah??  
[3:16 PM] Type⚽️: hmm.. No i dont think so  
[3:16 PM] Tharn🥁: wha t??

Type’s next picture is of his chest and chin, one hand all shiny with lube pinching and pulling at one of his puffy nipples. He never gets much out of playing with his nipples by himself, but he knows Tharn does.

[3:17 PM] Type⚽️: _image attached_  
[3:17 PM] Type⚽️: youre gonna take what i give you  
[3:17 PM] Type⚽️: and thats it  
[3:18 PM] Tharn🥁: fuck  
[3:18 PM] Tharn🥁: fuck youre hot playing with your nipples like that  
[3:18 PM] Tharn🥁: pretty baby  
[3:18 PM] Tharn🥁: baby u should fuckinf  
[3:18 PM] Tharn🥁: shit, u should finger youerself thatd be so hot  
[3:19 PM] Type⚽️: you could do it if you were here  
[3:19 PM] Type⚽️: wish yuo were here

Type’s hand is back on his cock, thumb digging into the tip as heat builds in his stomach. He wants Tharn, wants his boyfriend’s big hands on him, _in_ him. Wants his long fingers stuffed into him, filling him up until Type feels like he’s going to cry or come or _both._ Wants his boyfriend’s pretty mouth, too, wants it on his lips, his neck, his cock.

He loses himself in the feeling of his slick hand on his needy, twitching dick, head pressed against one of their pillows. It smells like Tharn’s shampoo and he buries his face in it, breathing in his boyfriend’s smell. “Close,” he chokes out to no one, his phone vibrating up a storm where he abandoned it.

He grabs at his phone with a shaking hand and, ignoring all the messages Tharn sent him, taps the call button.

Tharn picks up almost immediately and before Type can say anything, tease him for his stuttering breath, his messages, Tharn says, “Go on, come for me, baby.” And Type lets out a broken, desperate moan, and comes across his finger and belly. He pants heavily into the pillow, hearing Tharn’s soft, muffled moans and a wet, slick noise. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, still stroking himself lightly. “Fuck, you’re so good,” he breathes, smirking at the way Tharn’s breath hitches, moans catching in his throat. “You’re so good to me.”

“Go-gonna come,” Tharn says, still trying to be quiet.

“Go on,” Type encourages. “Come, and then come back here and fuck me into our mattress.”

Type knows what Tharn sounds like when he comes, has been the reason behind that sound more times than he can count. So when Tharn’s breath cuts off and he lets out a soft moan, Type smiles. They both pant for a second, trying to get their bearings before Tharn says, “When I get back, you’re going to _get it._ ”

And honestly, Type can’t wait.

-

[Four]

It would just so happen that one of Type’s finals would land right during Tharn’s performance at Jeed’s bar. Type complains about it for forever after he learns when his final is, little comments about how he isn’t going to be there to beat all the hordes of girls off his handsome boyfriend with a stick, and how he’s going to have to get someone else to do it, like Techno. Honestly, Tharn stops listening after ‘handsome boyfriend.’

He is a little upset about it, though. Seeing his pretty baby’s face in the crowd when he’s performing always helps him to do his best, and today is going to be an especially big group. Type had thrown around the idea of just skipping the final, but Tharn had held his face and made him promise to _not_ skip a final worth 20% of his grade for him. Type had agreed, but was clearly unhappy about it. 

“You alright?” one of his bandmates asks as he polishes his guitar, really making it shine.

“Yeah,” Tharn replies absently, staring at his phone. He had gotten a text from Type a while ago, and he can’t stop thinking about it.

 _Chat between Tharn🥁 & Type⚽️:_  
[4:10 PM] Type⚽️: for good luck before your gig  
[4:10 PM] Type⚽️: open later  
[4:10 PM] Type⚽️: _video attached_

He continues staring. Is it late enough? he wonders, glancing at the clock on the wall. Or maybe Type had meant right before he walks on stage…. He groans and rifles a hand through his hair, messing up his carefully parted style. Fuck it, he’s gonna open it. But then again….

He’s just about to text Type and ask if it’s late enough when he remembers that Type is currently in his final, phone stored safely away.

“Hey man, how long until we go on?” he asks. 

Song looks up. “Uh, fifteen minutes?”

“Thanks. I’ll be right back.” Tucking his drumsticks into his back pocket, he walks away quickly, hoping Song won’t stop him or ask any questions. Fortunately, he’s too involved in his instrument. 

Finding a tiny janitor’s closet, Tharn tucks himself in next to a mop and a bottle of suspicious chemicals and whips out his phone. He opens up his and Type’s messages and hovers his thumb over the video attachment. He takes a deep breath and taps it--

\-- and immediately cranks the volume way, way down as Type’s soft, unfiltered moans came floating out of his phone’s tiny speakers. Turns out Tharn was right to go hide away to open Type’s sketchy video message, but Tharn regrets absolutely nothing.

In the video, Type is in their bed on his back, draped in his school shirt fully unbuttoned. His fingers are buried between his legs, the movements of his wrist telling Tharn exactly what he is doing. Type catches his bottom lip between his teeth as he fucks himself on three fingers, lube dripping from his wet, sloppy hole. Tharn can hear the slick noise of the lube Type fingered into his body. Another moan escapes Type’s lips as he pulls his fingers from his body and reaches up to pinch at his cherry red nipples. Tharn’s mouth goes very dry as all the blood in his body rushes downwards, making his head spin. Within seconds he’s rock hard, pressing against his dark denim jeans. Video Type rolls one nipple between his fingers before switching to the other, eyes fluttering shut as he bites down harshly on his lip. Once both of his nipples are puffy and hard and red, Type, apparently satisfied with his handiwork, reaches down around to play with his soft rim, teasing himself. He slides his index finger in slowly, loose enough that it goes in easily. There’s an abandoned lube bottle next to him in the shot, and Tharn notices it’s half empty. Type shoves a second finger in alongside the first, pushing them in and out. 

Tharn can tell the second he brushes against his prostate because he lets out a loud moan, eyes opening again to make eye contact with the camera. A third finger, still wet with lube, joins the other two, and Type’s dick, flushed red and abandoned on his belly, jerks. Tharn wants so badly to reach out and wrap his hand around it. Type always makes the prettiest noises when Tharn jerks him off as he fucks him, unable to decide which form of stimulation he wants to chase. He usually ends up stuttering somewhere in the middle, leaving Tharn to play with his cute little cock and fuck him into their bed as he pleases.

Type speeds up the movement of his wrist, driving his fingers into his drenched hole as he tosses his head back, broken noises being punched out of his body with each thrust of his fingers. Without thinking about it, Tharn’s hand lands over his aching dick, rubbing himself through the material as he recognizes the noises Type makes as he is just about to come. Sure enough, with a few more thrusts of his fingers, he gasps, chokes out, _“Tharn,”_ and comes, covering his stomach in sticky, thick cum. Type works himself through the aftershocks with gentle movements of his fingers, never looking away from the camera. He looks so satisfied, too, like a cat that got the canary as he breathes out heavily, seemingly unbothered by the fact that he’s dripping in his own cum. Without missing a beat, Tharn rewinds the video so he can see Type’s face again as he orgasms. 

He’s so, _so_ close when he hears Song right outside the closet door-- “Tharn? Tharn, we’re on in two! Where are you?”-- and scrambles to turn the video off, unwilling to share his boyfriend’s noises with anyone. 

He glances down at his throbbing erection and just sighs. “Sorry, buddy,” he mutters.

He sends one message to Type, and goes to perform his set. 

[6:58 PM] Tharn🥁: i _hate_ you

-

[Five]

 _Chat between Tharn🥁 & Type⚽️:_  
[4:10 PM] Type⚽️: can you bring me my drink iforgot it on the table

Tharn checks the message Type just sent him before sighing and pausing his show. He gets up and shuffles into the kitchen, grabbing the cup of water left on the counter by an absent-minded Type. Type is in their bedroom, sprawled across their bed on his belly, looking at something on his phone. When Tharn presses the cold glass to his bare ankle Type yelps and almost kicks Tharn, who laughs.

“Your water, your majesty,” he jokes, sitting down next to Type for a second to see what he was doing on his phone and also to pet his soft hair. Type is playing some kind of word game on his phone where he had to make words out of a set of letters. Tharn stares for a second before shaking his head and giving up. “I’ll be in the living room, baby. I’m watching a show.”

“Mmm hmm,” Type offers, fully invested in his game. “Enjoy.” He makes another word worth 50 points. Tharn isn’t sure if that’s a lot or not, but he’s proud of his boyfriend anyways.

Moving back to the living room, he plops back down on the couch and presses play. The fight scene begins again, and some man gets at least four teeth knocked out. “Hope villains have dental insurance,” Tharn says. 

Less than ten minutes later, his phone chimes again with Type’s special ringtone.

[4:21 PM] Type⚽️: can you bring me my book it should be right next to you

Tharn glances beside him and sure enough, the book Type was reading earlier sits next to him, a bright red bookmark hanging out the top. He pauses his show again and picks the book up. Type hasn’t moved from where he was the last time Tharn saw him, except Tharn thinks maybe his ankles are crossed the other way, left over right instead of right over left. “Here you go,” Tharn says, plopping the book down. 

“Mmm, thanks,” Type says, clicking his phone off and reaching for the book. He was clearly biting his lip earlier, the bottom of his mouth red and swollen. Tharn can’t resist and leans over to press a kiss to Type’s mouth. Type squeaks, but relaxes into the kiss easily, pouting when Tharn pulls away quickly. “You’re mean,” he says sulkily, flopping onto his back and opening his book.

“Love you too,” Tharn says. He goes back to his show. 

-

[4:27 PM] Type⚽️: can you bring me a snack, im hungry

Tharn takes a deep breath, reminds himself how much he loves Type, pauses his show, and gets up to get the boy a snack.

-

[4:38 PM] Type⚽️: can you bring me a refill for my water please

Tharn almost says no, almost tells Type his legs aren’t broken and he can get his own water. But then he pauses his show in the middle of the king’s coronation speech and goes to get Type some more water.

-

Tharn’s phone pings again and Tharn is done. He hasn’t even gotten through one episode of this show because Type is apparently incapable of getting his own things today. He picks his phone up to tell Type to go get his own damn snack.

[4:45 PM] Type⚽️: _image attached_

At least it isn’t another request, Tharn thinks, tapping on the message. 

The image loads. It’s a picture of Type from the chest down, shorts shoved down around his pretty thighs and t-shirt bunched up, revealing Type’s soft tummy. Type has one hand buried between his thighs, hiding himself from Tharn tauntingly. There’s a caption on the picture that Tharn takes a whole 30 seconds to read, about as long as it takes for his brain to boot back up. _Can you bring me you?_ the caption reads.

Fuck the TV show.

-

Tharn has Type face down, a hand between his shoulder blades as he pins Type’s chest to their bed while the other hand keeps Type’s hips nice and high. He’s not even in him yet, just grinding against his ass teasingly. 

“Fuckin- hurry _up,_ ” Type wheezes out, voice muffled by the pillow he had been biting down on. 

“Impatient, babydoll?” Tharn says lightly, trying not to show how affected he is as he grinds up against Type again, the tip of his cock nudging against Type’s loosened hole. He’d fingered Type for ages already, pinning him down against their fluffy blankets and shoving three fingers in him, and Type was beyond ready to be _done_ with the teasing now.

“Get _in me,_ ” Type spits, trying to push back against Tharn. Tharn holds him in place easily, one big hand splaying over Type’s tiny waist.

“I’m just returning the favor, pretty baby,” Tharn continues, undisturbed by Type’s muttered threats against his dick. “You sent me these pictures, got me all riled up. Now it’s my turn. It’s only fair.” Truth be told, he’d give anything to be buried in Type’s soft warmth right now, but he can’t just give Type whatever he wants, whenever he wants, or he’s going to start lording his nudes over Tharn’s head like some kind of ultimate currency. Tharn knows himself too well, knows he’d give into Type too easily, make him spoiled and bratty. Well, even _more_ spoiled and bratty. 

Type’s fingers bunch in the sheets next to his head as he moans into his pillow. Tharn’s never heard a sound so sweet as Type’s moans. “You’re the _worst._ ”

“But you love me so much,” Tharn says, moving the hand holding Type’s chest down to the other side of his hip. Type is about to make a comment on how he’s reconsidering that choice when Tharn presses into him and his mouth falls open as he’s finally _filled._ “Fuck, always feel so good, pretty baby,” Tharn hisses through clenched teeth. Type is the best thing he’s ever felt. He’s pretty sure that’s a combination of Type both having a truly phenomenal ass and the fact that Tharn is hopelessly in love with him, but he’s also sure that telling Type that will result in an attempted kick. Type never quite got over his shyness.

He gives Type a minute to adjust, enjoying how Type pants open-mouthed into his pillow and clenches around him as he adapts to Tharn’s size. He always prepares Type well, but Type also possesses the ability to tighten up like none of his ex-boyfriends ever had. There would be no unprepared morning sex for them ever, unfortunately. The one time they tried ended… poorly.

And then Type starts squirming, and Tharn properly sets about fucking his boyfriend into the mattress. Type hiccups out tiny, broken moans as Tharn yanks his hips further up, forcing his back to arch. The new angle lets Tharn slide even deeper, and he makes the most of it, wanting to shove his cock so deep inside Type would feel it in his belly. Lube drips down the back of Type’s thighs, catching Tharn’s eye. He almost grins, thinking that this is probably the reason they go through a bottle of lube a week. A big bottle of lube a week. They both use so _much_ , but it’s completely worth it to see Type’s thighs and cock all glistening and shiny and wet. He runs a hand through the leaking lube, smearing it up and over Type’s ass. “Messy baby,” he murmurs. “My pretty, messy baby. All wet and sticky.”

Type curses into the pillow, the tips of his ears turning bright red. Tharn tucks this information away for later.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he continues, slapping Type’s ass lightly, barely hard enough to turn the skin a little pink. “Fuck, your _ass._ Want you to sit on my face later, eat you out ‘til you _cry._ ” Type tightens up around him, fingers turning white-knuckled in the sheets. Tharn had only ever convinced Type to sit on his face once, but he was going to treasure that memory _forever._

“Sh-shut _up_ ,” Type pleads, voice all cracked and hoarse. He moans again, and a particularly harsh thrust from Tharn breaks his voice in two.

“Is my baby embarrassed about how much I love him?” Tharn teases, thrusting hard enough to really push Type’s face into the pillow, unfortunately smothering his cute noises. He runs a hand across Type’s ass again, giving it a good squeeze every now and then. He traces two fingers around where his cock is buried in Type’s tight body, contemplating sliding another finger past his red, tight rim, making Type really _full,_ but decides against it eventually. That’s probably something he needs to talk to Type first about, if he can ever convince Type to get out of bed after this. Type is on his way to becoming a full blown pillow prince, and Tharn kind of loves it.

“Gonna come soon, babydoll?” he asks, sweat dripping down his face. Heat was burning in the bottom of his stomach, and Type’s soft, hot insides weren’t helping him hold it together.

Fortunately for him, Type just nods frantically into the pillow, pushing back against Tharn’s thrusts.

He doesn’t have to wait much longer before Type seizes up and comes across their freshly washed sheets that will now need to be washed again. He gets so tight around Tharn that he doesn’t stand a chance, lasting barely another three thrusts before his hips stutter and he spills inside Type, filling him up even more. As he pulls his softening cock out of Type and flops down next to him, pulling Type’s sweaty body up against his chest, he thinks that he probably can’t get much happier than this.

Type clears his throat, fluffy, sweaty hair brushing Tharn’s chin. “Hey, Tharn?”

“Yeah, pretty baby?”

“Can you bring me some water?”

Tharn groans and gets up. 

-

[+1]

 _Chat between Tharn🥁 & Type⚽️:_  
[10:19 AM] Tharn🥁: i miss u  
[10:20 AM] Type⚽️: dont do that yet you still have three more days  
[10:20 AM] Tharn🥁: but i havent seen you in 96 hours and im dying  
[10:20 AM] Type⚽️: perish i guess  
[10:20 AM] Tharn🥁: u dont miss me?  
[10:21 AM] Type⚽️: …  
[10:21 AM] Type⚽️: yes  
[10:21 AM] Tharn🥁: 🥰🥰🥰 love u baby

Type puts his phone down and rubs his eye. Tharn has been gone for four days now on vacation with his family, and as much as he loathes to admit it, his life is _boring_ without his boyfriend around to keep him on his toes. At first, he had been excited to get the house to himself for a bit, but that wore off in about three hours, and now Type was doing a great impersonation of a sea slug. He’s pretty sure that if not for soccer practice and the fact that he inhabits a mortal flesh suit that needs shit like food and sleep, he would lay face down on the couch and not get up until his boyfriend comes back.

His day passes by achingly slowly. He goes to a midday practice that eats up far less time than he would like, goes to lunch with Techno, who forgets his wallet _again,_ and Can, who is allergic to paying for his own food or something, and comes back to the apartment to resume wallowing again. He rolls over to text Tharn. It needs to be perfect. Not too clingy, not too distant.

[3:20 PM] Type⚽️: come back stupid. It's boring without you

Perfect.

[3:22 PM] Tharn🥁: aw

Oh no, the feelings jumped out too much. Abort, abort.

[3:22 PM] Tharn🥁: miss u too pretty  
[3:22 PM] Tharn🥁: just 3 more days

Too late.

Tharn’s messages make him feel warm inside, though, and he hugs the phone to his chest for a second. He looks at the picture next to Tharn’s name on the top of the screen. It’s a selfie Tharn had sent him before of him beaming into the camera like it makes him the happiest person on the planet. He smiles at Type like that a lot, with his teeth showing and eyes crinkling up. It takes Type’s breath away sometimes. 

[3:23 PM] Type⚽️: too long  
[3:23 PM] Tharn🥁: next time come with me

Tharn makes the same offer every time he has to leave Type for more than a day: _Come with me._ He always says it with a teasing smile, but Type always knows he means it. He usually brushes it off, makes some excuse about needing some alone time or going to visit his own parents, but lately the time spent apart has been less soothing and more just restless irritation.

[3:23 PM] Type⚽️: ok

He doesn’t know why he says it, but he doesn’t regret it. The reply is almost instant.

[3:23 PM] Tharn🥁: really???  
[3:24 PM] Type⚽️: yeah  
[3:24 PM] Tharn🥁: mean it???  
[3:24 PM] Type⚽️: yeah  
[3:24 PM] Tharn🥁: fuck baby i love u  
[3:24 PM] Type⚽️: sappy  
[3:25 PM] Tharn🥁: just for u babydoll

Babydoll. Type’s cheeks flush. There’s only one time when Tharn ever calls him babydoll (and only one time when Type will let him get away with it).

[3:25 PM] Tharn🥁: _video attached_

Type’s breath is coming out shakier now. He taps on the video to load it.

It’s him. Or, more specifically, it’s them. It’s his own back and ass, naked and sweating as he bounces on Tharn’s dick, and as Type turns the volume up, he can hear his own curses and huffs of breath and Tharn’s encouraging words. “Look so pretty on me,” Video Tharn says, voice ragged, one big hand wrapped around his waist, helping him move up and down. His thighs are shaking, and Type remembers how long he’d been at this, desperate to make Tharn come before him but overstimulating himself in the process. “So pretty.”

“Shit,” Type says, almost dropping his phone. He knew Tharn had been on his phone, but he thought he was taking pictures, not a video. 

A caption comes attached with the video. _Maybe we can have a repeat of this when we go on vacation together._

“Horny bastard,” Type mutters, reaching down and undoing the tie on his shorts with a yank. He’s already half hard (Does this make him a narcissist?) and half goes to full quick sharp when he slides a hand across himself, hissing in pleasure. 

The video carries on, this time focused on where Tharn was buried inside Type’s body, all red and swollen and aching with need. Tharn’s hand leaves Type’s waist to grope at his ass and thigh, touching as much golden skin as he could get his hands on. The hand squeezes and Type hears his video counterpart moan. He doesn’t blame himself. He’d had bruises in the shape of fingerprints for days after that, reminding him of how well his boyfriend fucked him every time he sat down. Type’s hips buck against thin air. He wants Tharn’s hands on him like that again, rough and claiming. But he also wants his boyfriend’s sweet words, light kisses, and hot touches burning him up. The clip only has a few more seconds, and Type knows exactly what is coming. He watches his own movements get sloppier and sloppier, noises more frantic and needy. He watches Tharn’s hips snap up to meet his ass in a few quick, powerful thrusts before Type tips forward, hands slapping down against the bed as his whole body shakes violently. Tharn’s cock slips free when he falls, and his cum splatters against Type’s back and ass, dripping slowly down. Tharn says something then, hand coming out to steady Type’s still quivering body, but all Type can hear now is the rushing of blood in his ears as the video ends. He’s hard, pressed up against the inside of his shorts.

And then Tharn has the audacity to call him. Without thinking, he answers. “Is this revenge?” he asks, hating how wrecked his voice sounds already.

“No,” Tharn answers, voice warm and soft. “It’s a promise.”

“Well,” Type says, tucking a hand inside his shorts again, “Care to elaborate on this promise?”

“With _pleasure._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> if you need me, i've buried myself alive, so grab a shovel. or come yell at me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fightertutor) yes i take requests ok goodbye


End file.
